Anthony and I played video games all morning.
Nothing fancy—just one of those easy, cozy stretches of time when you both know it’s more about being together than what you’re actually doing.
We grabbed lunch after, and when we were done, I asked if he wanted to help organize the board games we’ve been working on.
He and I have tried designing board games before. A few times, actually. We had fun with it. We’d brainstorm, sketch, argue about rules—turn the living room into a test zone. It was something we shared.
But today, he asked if it was okay not to help.
He was gentle about it. Not mean. Just honest.
And I said yes. Of course. Because it was.
Still… I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe this thing that used to be ours is now just mine.
And maybe that’s okay too.
Maybe part of this stage—of growing up, and parenting, and everything in between—is learning how to carry something alone when it used to be shared.
Maybe it’s not a loss. Just a shift.
But even so, I miss it a little.
